Differently the Same
by brenna idk
Summary: Samantha had a different story as to how she found herself in the arms of the Newsies.She was tougher than most the boys there, and only one place was capable of holding her in; Brooklyn.When her past starts 2 come with the present, how can Spot save her?
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1: The Beginning, The End.**

"You dirty little bitch! You're gonna die; I keep my promises!"

"SMACKKKK!" Was the last thing I felt, and heard, in my time of innocence; before my well-being fell unwilling into the hands of a stranger. I did what I had taught myself to do; I punched that kid right in the face. Over, and over again.

...

"_Deep dark secrets, hidden behind truth,_

_Kept unseen by the dieing youth,_

_Moments not to be taken back,_

_Time that stops in its track."_

I flinched at the words of the judge, an unnecessary poem, burning memories into my mind. I was being removed away from my current home in the Trenton, New Jersey Refuge House. The Refuge was a place where, as of yesterday, you could find about thirty five boys, and one girl; me.

I was Samantha Rose Brown, a fourteen year old girl with shoulder-blade-length strawberry blonde hair. It was a light, pale blonde but you definitely see the strawberry tinted natural streaks found throughout my curly hair.

The curls weren't tiny, frizzy curls, but long, large, round, soft, together curls. My lips were a soft pink, so naturally soft, but from years of no care, were chapped and red.

My eyes were large, (probably the most distinct feature about me, not counting my hair), and they were darkest shade of brown, almost black.

My eyes could be gentle, the most beautiful eyes seen by most people, but gentle doesn't help you live in a Refuge, or in any circumstances, the way I live, so they were most of the time daggers, from years of experience perfecting the glare that sent any kind of tough boy running.

I was beautiful, but covered with dirt from the nasty conditions of the Refuge, and with my death looks, didn't make me so appealing. My curls were held down my large amounts of mud, dirt, and dust.

My not-to-pale but not-to-dark skin had a layer of dirt covering it, as well as my tight white blouse and baggy brown boy pants with elastic around the ankles, keeping the way to long pants from dragging.

My hair looked brown and I pulled it into a high bun therefore covering it with my newsboy-style hat. I bumped around in the carriage I was riding in, shaking small parts of dust off.

I was being taken to the Bronx Refuge, many miles from my past residents in Trenton. See one Refuge and you've seen them all; I've been living in the refuges since I was seven. What makes me different, besides my looks and high ranks, is my story.

You see, I didn't come from some abusing family, or some 'richie' place where I was like some puppet, only wanted for my inheritance. My family hadn't all drown, or trapped in a fire. I probably wasn't completely alone, with no family to speak of, either. I hadn't been raped, abused, kicked out of my house, or mistreated by anyone that I cared for.

I was just tough, that's what got me in here. I lived in a small house, with my mother, father, and brother, Kyle in a small town. It only took a five minute carriage ride to get into Trenton from there.

My brother Kyle would be sixteen now, being two years older than me. I remember him as a built boy, with shaggy hair that he had to flick out of his eyes, the color of dark chocolate, and bright green eyes.

He was almost the complete opposite of me, except we acted the same; tough. I could outrun all of his friends, and beat them up it I wanted. This next story is what happened that got me in the Refuge, seven years ago, on March 19, 1892.

Kyle was nine, I being seven, and he had gotten mad at me. He was experiencing puppy love with a little doll names Silvia, a short, black haired girl with blue eyes. She wore dresses and acting all fancy, totally unlike me.

I don't even remember what exactly happened, I think she commented about my unlady-like ways, but it ended up with me punching Silvia right in the face. Kyle was so mad at me he punched me, and all hell broke loose. I had broken both Kyle and Silvia's noses. Of course Kyle and I ended up laughing like the siblings we were, just having fun. Not Silvia.

She ran home to her father, ironically he's a policeman, and told him about a little seven year old girl named Samantha Rose. He came to talk to me and ended up yelling at Kyle for what 'he had let happen'.

Even as a seven year old, I could tell there was something wrong with him, I think he was drunk. He was screaming at the top of his lungs at Kyle and I didn't know what to do, especially when Kyle started crying. The cop was definitely drunk. What I did next, changed my life as I knew it, and got me removed from my family.

I walked over, and punched that cop right in his face. His face turned all red.

Kyle screamed, "Sam! You'se can't punch the Bulls in their face, what the hell are you thinking?"

Silvia's father walked over to me and said real mean and heavy, "You're gonna pay for that, child. You can punch me, but not my daughter, but if you punch us both, I'm taking you in. And you just did. Where's your mother, child?"

I glared at him, not my deathly glare like now, but my weak seven year old one, and said, "Mamma's coming back from da market. My father is at work."

He snickered, "Then I guess your father won't be able to stop me than will he?" With that, he dragged me into his carriage, handcuffed me, and told me to stay there. He walked over to my mother, who was returning from the market, with a nine year old Kyle clinging to her skirt, explaining what happened.

Silvia's father, Sheriff Thomas Smith pulled out a gun, and shot my mother. Right there in front of both of her kids. Kyle screamed as our mother, Joan Elizabeth Brown, fell to the ground.

I was smart for a seven year old, knowing how to read and write, and I knew Silvia's father was crazy and drunk. He shook seizure like as he laughed. Kyle cried as he saw our mother on the ground, still holding the items from the market.

"Now, I'm taking you in for murder of your own mother. Ha ha ha..." Sheriff Smith stuttered. And Kyle and I were driven to the Trenton Refuge, for something we witnessed but never committed...

...

Now, I was fourteen. I had left my older brother behind; or rather he had left me behind. He had stayed in the Trenton Refuge for three years, and when he turned twelve, our father came and retrieved him.

He saw how I had changed from the innocent girl I had been, into this glaring, tough, ten year old. Our father believed the cops story, not what had really happened. It was sad that he didn't trust us, but that just made me hate him. It was easy for me to hate, but hard for me to like. So I didn't.

Kyle and I had been close in the Trenton Refuge. We guarded each other, and ruled the Refuge. Or at least, I did.

Kyle wasn't tough anymore; not like he had been. The emotional stress had become too much for him to handle; that might have been the reason that my dad still saw innocence in him and taken him, rather than me.

But when I turned eleven, a year after being left alone, I became who I am today. The glare- perfected. The look- tough as nails. The beauty- almost gone, but there. The gracefulness- no one saw anything coming.

I beat up kids, I was tough. I stole food from them, they couldn't do anything. Being the only girl in the six different Refuges I had lived in during the three years since I turned eleven, I wasn't going to be used or pushed around by stupid boys, hence the fact that I was now being taken away from the Trenton Refuge for the second time in my life, and this time being relocated out of state in the Bronx, New York by carriage. I feel so special haha, NOT.

I was seated by one literally huge guy dressed in black; it was his job I didn't attack anyone or anything like that. The road kept getting bumpier and bumpier and I kept being thrown towards the big guy by it until I was seated on his lap. He screeched and I swear he almost pooped his pants. Talk about my reputation.

Then his reflex swept in, also sweeping me out the carriage's window and into a crowd of random bystanders on the street. Without apologizing I took off running, not waiting for the body guard and the driver to realize their mistake.

I didn't know where I was running, and didn't seem to care until I ran right smack into someone. And he was NOT happy.

* * *

**Who did our little Sammie Rose run into? **

**AUTHORS NOTE: I unfortunetly, do not own Newsies or the Manhattan Refuge. I do own Samantha Rose, Kyle, Silvia, Sheriff Smith, and Lady Brown. **

**-This is my first Fanfiction EVER! Haha I don't know if this is good or bad so Review Please!**

**You should review!**

**I will give you all cookies[=**

**And update sooner!**

**-xoxox BrennaBerrr 3**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: The Mighty..Spotette?**

I woke up with a head ache that could swallow China. It hurt, and I was stronger than anyone I've ever met. I also had a bruise on my left cheek bone, but I was used to things like that.

I didn't remember anything as to how I got to be where I was, in a barn on a pile of hay.

I was still wearing my clothes; a white tight blouse and boy brown pants. My hand found my head, and my long strawberry blonde hair was down, and super clean. Someone had washed me up; seeing as to my face was also clean.

I remembering running into a wall. Wait, not a wall, a person. A strong person, it must have been. My thoughts were interrupted by the barn door opening.

"Look who's finally decided ta wake up and kiss da world awakenin'," a male voice laughed, sounding cheery and dripping with a New York accent. "Whatsa liddle goil like you'se self doing in Hattan' runnin' round like a crazy poisen?" (What's a girl like you doing in Manhattan, running around like a crazy person?)

"None of your business!" I nearly yelled as the boy came into view, and I shot him my death glare.

He was definitely startled by that, and he had to take a step backwards. Ha, I'm not the pretty girl he thought I was. I love surprising people like that. He was wearing a hat similar to mine, with black pants, suspenders, and a white shirt. His legs were pretty long, and he looked Italian. It was funny, seeing an Italian with a New York accent.

"Feisty," he smiled. "Now, me names Remington, but you'se can call me Shots. Its da nickname." He took off his hat, releasing dark brown hair, cropped short to his head.

"Hmmphh," was all the reply I gave.

"Not to pry, but'se are gonna wants to tell me yer name, or de Bulls are gonna start asking you'se, cuz you'se look a lots like da escaped goil from Trenton..." Shots looked cocky, like he knew I was the girl, but he looked like he really cared too.

"Yeah. That's me, gotta problem with it?" I growled back.

"Nahh, not at all, but ya didn't answer me question." He continued. Darn. My subject change didn't do anything.

"Samantha Rose Brown." My answer was short and sweet. Or should I say short and tough?

"You'se need a nickname, cuz dat name don't fit ya at all." He nodded as if agreeing with himself.

"Whatever not like I care. Just tell me why and how I got here. Oh, and frankly, I don't remember being this clean." I spat at him.

"I'se found ya on the street, laying on da ground, den you'se start going on about how you'se 'gotta keep runnin' so I takes ya back to me folks place, and me mudder (Mother) comes out and cleans ya all up." Shots answered.

"Kay, well I best be going." I got up to leave.

"Fer a goil, yer really kinda mean an tough, ya know? Yer pretty now dat you'se is clean, too, but dat attitude is gonna git in da way." Shots cocked his head to the right. It just dawned at me he must not be any older than sixteen.

"Feisty." Shots said almost to himself.

"Yeah, you already said that." I growled at him.

"Nahh, doll face, dats yer nickname!" He explained as it I was stupid.

"Whatever, I gotta go." I said as I walked out of the barn.

"Do you'se even has a place ta go?" Ughh.

"No, so what?" He shouldn't even care.

"You gotta job, Feisty?" Seriously?

"I don't need this." I spit at Shots, turning away from him.

"Hmmm," he said thinking, "I woik at a factory, no place fer a goil. But I'se gotta cousin in Hattan' dat woiks as a Newsie. Sells da papes." I must have looked confused, because Shots explains, "Ya know? Carryin' da Bannah?" That really helped.

"Yeah, I know." What does any of this have to do with me?

"You'se can beat up any of dose boys, I'se sure of dat." He looked at me.

"OHHHhhhh ReMMINgtonNN!" Another boy voice called from around the barn. Shots shook his head and sighed.

"Heya Racetrack." He called back.

The other boy came to view, this 'Racetrack'. He was definitely Italian, and he too had strong New York accent.

"Dis is da cousin I was tellin ya bout. Da Newsie?" Oh great. I just want to leave.

"Hmmphh." I glared my one of a kind glare. At least I thought it was a one of the kind glare until Racetrack spoke

"You'se dat goil Shot told me bout. Are you'se related to Spot Conlon?" Who?

"No." I crossed my arms and glared. Racetrack and Shot smirked. What the hell?

"You'se glare just like him." Racetrack said.

"I knew she reminded me of someones! She's a goil Spot! Hahaha!" Shots laughed.

"You'se gotta name?" Race asked, still laughing.

"She's Samantha Rose Brown." Shots said in this real hoity-toity voice. That's my cue to glare.

"Haha dat don't fit her at all! She's ta tough! More like nails den roses." Racetrack told us.

"Feisty, too. At least I thought so but now I sees she's more of a 'Spotette'!" They laughed.

"Ya! Dats her nickname! Spotette!" Racetrack agreed.

"So what? I get to be a girl version of a _dog_?" I growled. Shots and Race's faces darkened.

"I wouldn't recommend ya sayin DAT again. If Spot hears ya, yer dead, goil or not." Racetrack warned, glancing at Shot.

"Whatever. I can take him." The laughed again. And with that, my real nickname came to be. Great, my nickname was a girl version of a dog.

"Guess what, Spotette? I hear ya don't gotta place ta woik or stay so yer gonna become a newsie!" Racetrack said.

Shots and Racetrack lead me into Manhattan, through the streets to an old place that said, 'Newsboy Lodging House-Manhattan'.

As we walked in Racetrack explained the situation to Kloppman, the watchman of the Lodging House. The leader, I was introduced to, Jack Kelly, asked, "So what's your name?" The whole room became quiet as me, the pretty girl, sent a glare that could kill, and answered,

"I'm Spotette." I crossed my arms and glared as the boys shook their heads and added comments like "I can see why" or "Spot's gonna love to see this doll named after him, if she doesn't beat him up first" followed by "I'd bet it'd be a pretty fair bet.

A booming voice as cold as steel called from the door way I had walked through just moments ago says, "Who's named after ME, the KING of BROOKLYN?" It was cold enough to make me, Samantha Rose Brown, shake in her seat…

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: Don't own Newsies. Do own Shots and Sam.**

**Review and Recieve...**

**The feeling of making me HAPPY! **

**HaHaHa..but seriously, Review Please [=**

**-xoxox BrennaBerr**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3: Realization.**

"I'm Spotette." I said finally coming from my haze.

"Oh you'se? Well, what gives _you_ da right, ta be named afta _me_?" He said cocking his head to the side; smirking.

"Ohhh your soo intimidating, look at me I'm shaking!" I spat back, a smirk of my own. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because the 'famous Spot's' smirk disappeared and gasps of shock from our audience could be heard.

"Excuse me?" Spot growled stepping closer.

"You know what?" I said stepping towards him. "You're excused." I smirked at him. What is with him? Who does he think he is? God?

"You'se lucky dat I was da one who made da rule bout not hitting goils!" He yelled pointing a finger at me. He can not talk to me like that. No one can.

"And you're lucky that I don't…oh wait, I still will hit you!" I screamed back. A loud knocking came against the Lodging House door and diverted the attention from Spot and I.

"Must be someone _special_. Who da day tink day are, knockin' on our door? Dey are so _special_." Racetrack said sarcastically and shook his head as he spoke.

"Some people have manners, isn't that right RaceTRACK?" A crackling voice I hadn't heard before called out. The rooms heads all turned towards the door. I didn't know who he was but he looked about seventeen, tall and grimy. He was missing a couple teeth and ear length greasy hair was falling around his head.

"Shit." Spot said almost under his breathe. Then louder, "You'se boys from da Bronx tink you'se _soo_ tough following me ta Hattan? We ya definetly aren't." His voice cold agian.

"Boys, get up!" Jack Kelly called and all the Hattaners' were standing; fists ready to punch if needed.

"What is—" was the only words I got in before Spot's hand clamped over my mouth, and I proceeded to bite him.

"Ouch! Just don't talk." I wasn't a command that was to be disobeyed. But I almost started laughing when I realized I had drawn blood from his palm. It backfired when Spot saw that look, and wiped his blood all over my back and on my **white** blouse.

"Don't touch my back!" I accidentally screamed, causing everyone including the forgotten visitor to look at me.

"Ohhh looks like we touched a nerve, hmm, dollface?" The grimy guy asked.

"What's a delicate, pretty goil doing in a place like dis?" He asked stepping close and placing his hand under my chin.

"Don't touch me." I growled, batting his hand away and glaring. I suddenly realized how much my voice did resemble Spot when I used it ice cold like that. Obviously it had the same effect, because the guy backed away. But recovered quickly, and before I knew I was lying on my stomach on the ground with some disgusting creep on top of me.

Two seconds before Spot rammed into him, getting him off of me, the room could hear the ripping of fabric, as my Spot's-blood-stained white shirt was torn down my back, exposing my skin. The room gasped. I froze. This can't be happening. The years of hiding something that was no longer hidden.

I'm sure they all saw if before I rolled onto my back pulling the remains of my shirt over my chest, my eyes wide and frightened.

I had a scar; starting on my left shoulder that went diagonally down my back and slightly curved around right hip. It was gross and red and bubbly like scabs. I don't remember how I got it. I tend to block out certain memories, when my emotional/strength barrier wall has been let down. I don't remember what caused me to get this scare, or when I got such a bad headache just a day ago. I guess it's my way of keeping things out.

But it's not just my back that's scarred; there are marks all the way down the back of my legs too. I'm beautiful on one side, and a monster on another. And now everyone in my almost-new life knew it, too. I did the only thing I had taught myself to do when this happens; I ran. Out of the Manhattan Lodging House door, through the streets, without stopping. I could hear Racetracks and Shots calling after me, thankfully using my nickname of 'Spotette' rather than Samantha. I had a small piece of white shirt left, just enough to cover myself in the front.

I remember running until I couldn't run anymore, and then falling. No, I collapsed and zoned out to the noises of water.

What I remember perfectly is the dreams I had in unconsciousness. They weren't really dreams; it was my body's way of making me remembering the things I had forbidden myself to remember but at the same time, was terrified to forget.

The first one started like this:

I was five, my hair in two braids in a small dress with flowers, perched upon my mothers lap. She was trying to get me to fall asleep, to take a nap at least. I had always had trouble falling asleep.

I pretended to fall asleep that time; I wasn't really tired. I pretended to do that many times, but this time was different.

My mother stroked the top of my head, but soon after, began crying, softly at first. She sniffled and cooed, still stroking my head. Then she began to speak, to what she thought was her sleeping five year old.

"I know you wonder why you look nothing like your father, that only Kyle does." She cried out quietly, just barely as whisper. I did wonder about that, even at the age of five. I had brown eyes, my mother with blue, and my father with green, like Kyle. My strawberry blond hair was also one of a kind in our family, with my mother's dark brown and my dirty blonde.

"Honey, you're too young to understand, but someday you will. I'm going to tell you know anyway, something only your father knows. Darling, sweet Samantha Rose, you are not biologically related to your father." She cried, tears falling from her eyes.

"I was raped, darling, that's when something umm... very important is umm...taken away without your permission. He was a mean man, Sammie, with a little girl your brother's age. He knows I told your father, and he is very angry." She blows her nose in a napkin, before sobbing again, pieces of her neat bun falling into her face.

"He threatens to come and…umm...hurt us if we tell. We aren't sure whether to put this man in jail, and he is one of the highest ranking policemen; he's supposed to be good but he is not good, sweet child." My mother had to take a moment to get under control, her sobs becoming too loud.

"But your father and I will do everything in our way to protect you, Samantha." And the vision of a happier time of my life, was gone.

**The next dream was something current; I was running through the streets of New York, just before Shots found me. **

I turned a corner, a little to fast, running with a lot of force right into someone, that was unknown to me at the time, though and I was thinking I had ran into the wall. I wobbled backwards, but the short figure in front of me didn't stagger.

"Woahh der, why you'se runnin'?" The familiar voice seemed to echo.

"None of your business!" I slurred.

"A proitty (pretty) goil like you'se wouldn't be drunk, woulds she?" He asked but with no sincere worry in his words.

"No! I ran into a fricken wall!" I explained, as if it wasn't obvious.

"That wall, dollface, was me chest." My vision finally became clear and I looked up over to the person.

"Spot?" I tried to say, but instead fell dizziness and collapsed onto the ground.

**I'm still in unconsciousness from the running and falling after my scar had been exposed, but even in that state, everything seemed to finally make since for the first time in a long time. I counted the facts of in my head.**

1. Spot's a stupid boy who left me on the street after I ran into him.

2. Shots is a nice boy who came and got me when I was left on the street by a stupid boy.

3. My biological father killed my biological mother, because she told about him raping her.

4. The father I had grown up thinking was my father only rescued my brother from the Trenton Refuge because I wasn't even technically related to him; biologically that is.

5. Even thought I'm unconscious, I can still use my mind, which is really weird.

* * *

"Spotette? Guys she's waikin' up!"

"No I'm not, stupid; this is all just a dream!" I didn't expect to actually say it allowed, but I guess I am waking up.

I opened my eyes to see Shots, Racetrack (who must have been the person who announced me waking up), a blonde kid with an eye patch and a contagious smile, and Spot, who was, as usual, smirking.

"Have good dreams, Spotette?" Spot asked, the first time him using my nickname, "You'se was talking in yer sleep, and I'se know I was in yer dreams. Did I'se save you'se or sumting?" He asked so cockily. I hated that about myself, but I don't really talk about my dreams, I just say the name of the people in them.

I could feel my face turn beat red, and said, "You smart-mouth son of a bitch." And that was a sight to see.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: No Newsies for BrennaBerr, there all Disney's.**

**REVIEW! PLEASEEE.**

**I can see how many people are coming to my story, but I have no idea if it's any good. Be honest please!**

**I need something to happen with Spot, something that will make him a good guy,**

**Rather than the bad guy, cuz i hate writing him as the bad guy]=**

**Ohh! And a thanks to Christina Conlon for reviewing!**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4: Falling, No Longer Floating.**

"WHAT!" Spot exclaimed.

"What? Do you have a hearing problem? Don't talk to me; don't look at me, just stay _away_ from me." I glared at him. I was so tired of people just not caring about me.

"What the hell? I have done nothing to you! I don't know what your problem is but I will _not_ take order from you!" He snarled.

"That's exactly my point! You did _nothing! _Remember yesterday? When I was running and I ran into you? Yeah that was me!" For some reason the last two sentences I stopped screaming, and my voice dropped to barely a whisper, "And you left me there, Spot. Shots was the one who came and got me." I don't know why but I just couldn't find my voice for the first time in my life and that scared me, as much as I allowed myself to feel fear.

"Excuse me? But who do you'se tink sent Shots to come and get you'se? Hmm? Did you'se even consider dat I had to be somewhere but still made time to help ya? And I'se is lettin ya stay in Brooklyn!" Wait, what? We were in Brooklyn? Oh man, it is different than the other Lodging House. When he said those things; he was angry, and I didn't have anything to say back.

Then it hit home, all the facts that I had made fit together like some big puzzle fell into place, my mother's murder, how I showed no resemblance to my father, and why he had taken Kyle, rather than me. I had been lied to and betrayed my whole life, really, and Spot helping me was kindness I didn't deserve.

For the first time since I was four, tears slipped down my cheeks, sobs soon following. Everything I had shown no emotion for, the times when I had fallen but was too tough to hurt, the times when I had been called names, and too juvenile to do anything but fight, those moments when the tension between my family could have been cut with a knife, all the feeling I had locked up, slipped down as I cried.

Everyone around me looked shocked but I didn't care. I just then and there, stopped caring about anything. Nothing mattered to me.

I wasn't used to people caring about what I did, where I was, and if I was okay, but here with the Newsies, they seemed to. And that's what made me feel so bad; I had nothing I could return to them.

It was so late when I fell asleep that night, completely tired and stressed, but my tears were gone. As I curled up into a ball, I felt someone sit down on my bed.

"I don't know really know who you'se are, or what happened to you'se in da past. And I don't tink you'se are willin' to tell me or any of the udders." He sighed, and from where he was positioned, it looked like I was sleeping, and he continued, "But I know you're not bad. Oh, and yeah, you'se are in me bed." He was completely gentle when he said that, something I wasn't expecting.

What I definitely wasn't expecting was that he crawled into my, or well 'his', bed, and right next to me. Well, first he had to be real dramatic about something, sighing. I realized he had taken off his suspenders and shirt.

I stayed curled in a ball, pretending to sleep, and soon I could here his heavy breathing; as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders, so I decided to turn and look over at him.

One of his eyes opened, "You'se ain't de only one who can play sleep." He said, completely joking.

I actually smiled, then, pushed him and his naked chest off the bed and he landed with a thud. "Heyy, we was havin' a moment!"

I looked over the bed down to the ground and at him, "Yeah, I guess we were. You can come back up, though, I'm being nice today." I smiled back at him.

"Thanks, you're soo kind, speakin' dat it is me bed." He said climbing back up, "Sleep tight, Spotette." And with that, I realized that my nickname was permanently choosen.

"Goodnight, Spot."

* * *

**DONT OWN NEWSIES. **

**GASPP! It was Spot! See how I waited til the end to tell you who it was! Haha.**

_**And I know, I know, This was an incredibly SUPER short chapter, so sorry.**_

**And I am also aware that I made Spot and Sam total mush balls (no offence Mush) at the end, but they aren't heartless,**

**At least not in my story[= **

**They needed some bonding moments[=**

**MY PERSONAL NOTE: I have written this whole story before I even made a Fanfiction Account, now it's just a matter of editting and publishing. So I know what's going to happen and you DON'T haha *evil laughs* But I will keep updating, I promise[=**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5: Deep In Thoughts.**

"Oh my, what do we'se have here!" A voice awoke me.

"Hmm." I grumbled, still asleep with my eyes closed.

"Hahaha!" I wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep, nope. I sighed and decided to wake up.

Opening my eyes, I gasped. I was sleeping, literally, _on_ a sleeping Spot Conlon. Oh my goodness. Not just any sleeping Spot Conlon, a shirtless Spot Conlon.

My head had been resting peacefully in the hollow of his neck as we slept, his arms loosely around me. Oh great, I can just hear the stories.

I tried getting out of bed, but Spot's hands were wrapped heavily around me still. And he was still sleeping. I pulled away harder, man this guy was strong.

I finally gave up and pushed him off the bed, without realizing his grip still around me, pulled me down after him. If he hadn't woken up when he hit the ground, he was definitely awake when I landed with a thud on top of him, his eyes wide with shock.

I smiled, and told him "You can let go of me now." He seemed to take everything in for a moment, and then released me.

I shook myself off and stood. My clothes were absolutely filthy. "Does anyone have some clothes I can borrow? Mine are super dirty." I asked.

"You'se will fit into mine, baby. Wanna just make sure; I'se got just enough room for you right now, doll face." A boy I haven't been introduced to said, and snickers came from across the room.

"Wanna say dat again, Jumps?" Spot said, in his ice cold voice. Turning to me, his face softened, "You'se can have some of mine, lemme see…" He said digging through a dresser. "Here."

He ended up handing me a white shirt, more boyish than my current one, pink suspenders; I guess they were supposed to be red, but had been worn down, and gray baggy pants that just went past my knee, reminding me of Mush from Brooklyn's ill fitting ones. "Thanks." I said and was about to walk out of the room before I realized, I had no idea where to change.

"Errr, where is the wash room?" I asked no one in particular.

Spot sighed, and told me, "Follow me, I'll show ya."

The newsies still in the room made unneeded comments like 'Ohh yeah!' 'Again, Spot?' or 'What can you'se say, he woiks fast!' Spot shot them glares that shut them up quick and showed me the wash room.

I changed and looked into the mirror. I was shocked. Suddenly I couldn't even remember the last time I had looked into the mirror, but I was positive I hadn't look like this.

My hair was dead and limp, even since Shots washed it and at least four inches longer than I remembered.

There was a purple bruise on the upper part of my cheek bone, but not to close to my eye.

I had tons of brown freckles all over my higher cheeks and nose, which was definitely different. My eyes seemed way too big to be proportioned with the rest of my face, which was noticeably thinner from lack of enough food.

I had more of a figure, also; not just the slim and straight child I had once been.

I washed my face and hair, which dried to be it's naturally curly self. It looked shiny and clean, and I was happy to see it was still strawberry blond. But it looked like something was missing, so I took a pair of old scissors and chopped my hair in the front; making a straight line of front bangs falling onto my forehead.

I placed my hat on my head, and walked out of the washroom, to see a very long line of newsboys that had 'business' to take care of. I murmured an apology, which was new to me, and walked away, but really doubted any of them heard me; they ran into the washroom so fast.

"You'se are selling today." Spot said I entered the room, but not looking up from the window he was looking out.

"What?" I asked, surprising mean.

"Selling," he spit back, matching my voice, "newspapers. It's what Newsies do."

"I know." Jeeze, I'm not stupid. He finally turned around to face me.

He was silent.

"What?" I asked smirking. He'd noticed that I had washed up, I can tell those things.

"If you wanna find anodder job to do, find it, but you needa make money, it _does_ cost money to stay here." He finally said.

"I'll sell today, but I'm gonna find a different job." I stated, still smirking.

"Fine wid me." He said as if he didn't care, and I started to wonder if he actually didn't.

"Okay, well, have a wonderful day, Spot." I smiled and said in such a sweet voice I surprised myself, but not as much as I startled Spot, whose mouth literally dropped and his eyes bulged out of his head. What a sight. Hey, I doubt I was going to stay here long, so why not break some hearts, and have some fun?

I walked as gracefully as I could, which was not at all graceful; I wasn't blessed with that skill. I was a clutz. It does take skill to trip over flat surfaces, and that skill, I must have inherited.

Luckily, I made it out of the room without dieing, and made my way to the 'Distribution Center' as the other Newsies were saying. I flirted with the twenty-something aged boy behind the window, until I had earned myself fifty free papers or 'papes' as the Newsies called them. Yeah, I can flirt. I just don't do it often, or well, at all.

I listened to the other boys selling, and realized that to sell the papes you had to lie about them. So I did.

There was something uninteresting about a barn fire in western New York causing the farmer to release his seven horses to keep them from burning, and they escaped to eat all his prized vegetables. "Horses ruin a man's career; eat everything in sight, even the kids!" I shouted and had to stop myself from laughing when about ten people came to buy the papes.

I saw a younger Newsie pretending to by sick and weak and I had an idea. I walked around to a bunch of rich snotty ladies and said, "Excuse me? Would you have any money to buy a pape? I've been living with a bunch of dirty boys until I could get enough money to return to my family. They had to move on short notice, with no room for me." I said in the saddest but sweetest voice I could muster.

"Ohh! Of course, darling, you poor thing!" One cooed. Her golden hair was pulled into a tight bun, and it looked like it was pulling her forehead skin back with it. She took out her purse and handed me a quarter, "Keep the change, darling, I would hate to be separated from my family." Dang, I hate lying. A couple others pulled out a few pennies and I thanked them and left.

I sold the rest of my papes by one o'clock, and was on my way to the Lodging House, just sauntering down the street with the only other Brooklynite I knew, a fifteen year old boy with crazy-red straight hair that was a perfect length that he had to flick from his eyes, and large blue eyes. He was a year older than me, but we were close friends. His nickname was Burnin.

We weren't talking much now; I had a lot on my mind though. No one had even asked about my scars and marks, and let me stay at the Lodging House with out question.

"You umm… look real nice today, Spotsie." He said smiling. He was one of the only Newsies I've met without the New York accent. 'Spotsie' was something he told me that he always wanted to call Spot, but knew that would only get punched for it, so that's what he has taken to calling me.

"Thanks, Burnin." I sighed, I really liked this child; he noticed the little things I did differently, like today I had tied a string around my shirt, making it look more tight and feminine and today was the first day I had worn my hair down in a while too, since I had taken to washing it daily.

"There's gonna be a get together at Manhattan tomorrow, and since your friends with them and stuff, I thought you'd wanna go. Maybe as my date?" He asked, not an embarrassed thing about him.

I hadn't seen Racetrack, Jack, or Shots, in what felt like forever, but was a mere few days, "Sure, I'd love to." I replied. We smiled.

The next night I stayed in Burnin's bed, and was happy to see that Spot looked even the slightest disappointed but quickly covered it up with a neutral expression as he lied down in his bed.

I slept curled in a ball again, but before I was still awake, long after Burnin fell asleep. He was sleeping on the inside of the bed, towards the wall with me on the outside.

The next day went a lot like the previous days': wake up, use the washroom before everyone else, sell papes and make fun of Spot as too how I could sell the papes just as well as him without being taught and eating lunch with Burnin and Spot.

But then we returned to the Lodging House to get ready for Manhattan's party. I took off the pink suspenders and my hat. Then I stole a super old and used pair of Spot's pants, cutting them to if my arms were at my side, the end of the shorts would be even with my finger tips. And of course, my white shirt.

We walked to Manhattan, our heads held high; for we were Brooklyn. 'We'. Not 'them'; but 'we'; as in, including me.

I met up with Shots, Race, and Jack, thanking them again for everything they've done.

And we partied. Until another of my famous mistakes happened. And I was changed, inside as well as outside. Again.

* * *

**DON'T OWN NEWSIES! **

**Another Chapter!**

**I'm going on Vacation to Ocracoke Island, North Carolina on Wed for a week,**

**So I'm updating as much as possible until I have to go,**

**Because it's also a computer-free Vacation! YAY! Not.**

**But I totally love beaches! So yay!**

**REVIEW PLEASE.**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6: Oops, I Guess I Wasn't Actually Ever Protected.**

**Not by You, at Least, Or Well, **

**_From_ You.**

My mistake was unknown to me until almost a month after it had happened. And that was four months ago. My birthday had passed in the midst of those months; turning fifteen.

I remembered what happened. But he didn't.

So I was in a terrible situation. With no clue on what to do.

I did the thing I was good at; I detached myself from everything staying as far away from Manhattan as possible, and not talking with anyone.

I planned to leave, every day the idea became more realistic, but so much farther away. One day Spot couldn't take it any more.

"What da hell is wrong wid you? You'se so out of it! All you do is sell da papes!" He confronted me, angry.

"It's my job." I said quietly, looking at my shoes, with no fight left in me.

"What is wrong? You would never give up! You always had some kinda fight in ya!" The words he screamed were exactly true.

"I know." Was all I said, still staring at the floor.

"You've changed Spotette. And not in a good way." He hissed, no longer screaming but his voice ice cold.

"Yeah? You think that? You don't even know what happened that made me this way, Spot! And you never even cared enough to ask! I know, I would probably not tell you, but still! You could at least _try_ to show you care!" I growled back, my eyes glaring their glare. I'm ba-ack!

"Whatevah!" He said and stomped from the room.

I held my stomach and stared into the mirror. I had been going to the doctors once every week, still in denial of what happened.

"But we were drunk! This shouldn't have happened!" I explained to the doctor. She only sighed.

Burnin walked in to see me by the mirror, walked over and put his arm around my shoulder, squeezing me into the one-armed-guy hug.

I started crying. For the second time in Brooklyn. He just held me there.

Eventually I stopped crying and he spoke, "It's going to get worse, until you tell someone." He didn't know what the problem was, but his words struck home.

"Call a meeting in the main room." I spoke, full of determination.

He nodded and took off.

About half an hour later I was standing up in front of a Lodging House full of boys. I cleared my throat; no backing down now.

I began, "Some of you were having complaints of my behavior issues." I said glaring right at Spot, and keeping my voice completely calm and even. "Well, if you must know, I'm pregnant. Thank you." I said with a shrug, like whatever.

Spot's eyes nearly fell from his face and his mouth hung open. I was walking back to the washroom when Burnin; the first to respond since the news, stopped me. "Oh no you don't! Who's the father?" He demanded. I flinched at his words; never hearing him so mean and serious.

"I can't tell." I said quietly, loosing most of my confidence, knowing the question was unavoidable.

"Sure to hell you can't!" Spot finally shouted finally getting out of his haze, and storming over to me. Gulp.

"Who is he?" He asked, giving me no choice in his words. But I wasn't telling. I couldn't drag the father down too, he hadn't signed up for this. Having a child with a wanted girl, who was a mere fifteen. It was an emotional challenge for me. One I wasn't sure I could handle.

"No one." I said glaring at him. How could he think he could force me to tell?

"I know how kids are born! There is a fadder!" He said screaming. Overreaction a bit.

"Spot, calm down. I won't take away the father's freedom like that. I can raise the child." I said trying to sound sure of myself.

"Who is it? I need to know!" He almost begged.

"It was an accident, Spot, we were both so drunk, and do you want to know what makes it worse?" He nodded, almost too quickly. I glanced over at Burnin who I had momentarily forgotten was there.

Spot misunderstood that, thinking it was his child, and began to punch him in the face. "Spot! No! It wasn't him!" I cried. Spot stopped short, right in the middle of a punch.

"Ohh. Sorry." He apologized quickly, "what made it worse, as you was sayin'?"

"The father doesn't even remember that we…that we…ya know? Did it..." I mumbled. Spot looked terrified.

"So that means it could be any of us, because we wouldn't know if we did, only you know?" He said turning angry again.

"Yes." I said. He lunged out and I thought he was going to hit me but instead, grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me.

"Tell me, damn it! Who was it?" He said.

"I can't tell!" I replied again, louder.

"WHY?" Spot screamed, shaking me again. It was so different seeing him showing emotion, even if it madness, but it was still different than the normal neutral feeling mask he wore.

I couldn't find my voice, and when I could it came less than a whimper, "It wouldn't matter. He wouldn't stick around to help. I'm a stupid and useless and wanted by the law. I'm fifteen and pregnant, with no husband. My family is a lost mess…" As I was talking I suddenly realized what I could do. I could find Kyle and he would help me, even if my father didn't.

"No one would leave you; they would have to deal with me if they did." Spot growled, interrupting my thoughts.

"I wouldn't want them staying by me because of force! I want to have a family; a husband that loves me! Love, Spot, not force. I want children that look like their parents and little pets and toys scattered around the yard!" I cried, a tear or two slipping down my cheek.

I was shocked beyond the point of recovery when Spot removed his hands from my shoulders and wrapped them around me, securing me in a hug. I was frozen for a bit before collapsing in tears in his arms.

He swung me up into his arms, such a strong sixteen year old, and carried me up the stairs to the bunks, where he set me in his. I stayed in his arms that night, as well as many after.

Spot asked me who the father of my child was at least twice a day, but he was starting to get the point that I wasn't going to tell.

It was a normal Thursday when my life was changed, again. I had finished selling with Spot and Burnin and we were back at the Lodging House.

Burnin was upstairs washing up; I was reading and Spot deep in thought. I wonder what he thought about at times like this, with him just sitting there next to me, so out of it all.

It was when the door of the Lodging House opened, and expecting a Brooklyn Newsie, was I aware that I hadn't outrun my past, not at all.

"That's her all right, Samantha Rose." A deep haunting voice called.

* * *

**I DO NOT OWN NEWSIES. **

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**Two Updates in One dayy!**

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	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7: WTH?**

**I Thought We Dumped You Back In**

**Chapter 1? Nah, They Found Us**

**Again.**

I was frozen as a crazy scene folded out in front of me.

The police flood into the Lodging House, _only_ about _fifty_.

Spot stood, glaring, "What the hell do you want?" He snarled, "I didn't do anything!"

"We're not here for you, street rat." A cop shot back.

"Who else would you then? The girl?" Spot laughed. He laughed. _He laughed._

"Yes, the girl." The cop said to Spot, who's expression dropped.

"Spotette?" He whispered, as if trying to prove this wasn't true.

"If I go, will you ignore everyone else here?" I said, ignoring Spot, with my head hung low.

"Sure, sure, now come on. You've been one bad little girl, haven't you." The cop smirked.

"Whatever." I said walking over to them. I wasn't weak, don't you dare say so. But the Newsies had cared for me more than anyone else, and right when I needed it most, so I wasn't going to endanger them.

"You finally broke her will to fight did you?" The cop asked Spot, who was so out of mind that he couldn't reply. I wondered what was wrong with him.

A flash back from the night before took over me as I was being lead to the carriage.

"_Spot! Stop!" I screamed as I was thrown off the Brooklyn Docks. He was smirking as I resurfaced again._

"_Fine, be that way." I mumbled as I walked up a ladder to get back on the docks. _

"_Hey, now, I ain't gonna let you back up dat easy." He said, putting his foot on my forehead and pushing. I grabbed his bare foot as I fell back into the ice cold, navy blue water so that he fell in with me._

"_You'se got guts, goil." Spot said as we climbed up the old rusted ladder._

"_You haven't broken me yet," I laughed as he pulled me towards him and wrapped his arm around me. We sat there and watched the sunset; a mix of purple, orange, red, and yellow. It was a beautiful night, looking over a cloudless sky. _

_Spot and I had been going to the docks every day the past one and a half weeks, but it never got old. "Let's head home." He whispered in my ear, kissing my forehead._

I would have thought he would at least try and save me from being taken away, but he just stood there.

I tried to convince myself that people got arrested around here all the time; that Spot was used to it. But even that couldn't stop the tear from falling down my cheek.

I didn't want to go back. No one cared about me; I was just some girl they could use.

It was too late to fight and I really didn't want to; not if my friends would allow me to be taken away this easily. I guess they never really did care, just like the Refuges.

I had given up everything, for people who didn't care? No, I hadn't given it up.

As the cops put the cuffs on me and were leading me towards the carriage, I realized I wasn't going back. I wouldn't.

So as the bulls were all 'oh, she's broken; she won't dare run', I kicked the closest one right between the knees and started running.

It was more painful than I recalled, then I remembered I was pregnant. I didn't even want to have a child! Ugghh.

But I kept running, leaving the Brooklyn Newsies Lodging House, the cops, my clothes, most of my money, and Spot in the distance.

I couldn't go back to Brooklyn, and Manhattan was out of the picture, it would be so awkward, I mentally flinched.

I kept running, until I came to the docks where Spot and I had spent so much time together; and hated them. Hated how he didn't care, when I cared about him so.

I didn't stop running, though. I had to continue. For Spot. For the cops. For Burnin. For the baby. For the father. For myself.

It was a last minute decision, but I still made it. Blame yourself, but it is my decision, I thought to myself.

An ran right off the end of the dock, into the cold, navy blue water, with no intention of swimming back up.

The last thing I saw, was that sunset.

The one I had seen so much beauty in.

The one I know hated so much.

But it was still a wonderful sight.

* * *

**DONT OWN NEWSIES.**

**Sorry it's short. But I had to get it out.**


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8: Forever, Child.**

**Forever, Father,**

**Forever, Mother.**

**Forever Real.**

**Forever.**

_SPOTS POINT OF VIEW…_

"Blame yourself, but it is my decision!" She screamed as she ran off the slippery docks into the freezing water, looking up at the sunset only once, before gripping her stomach and plunging under. What was she thinking?

Or should I say, what was I thinking? I found myself running with all the speed I had worked up over the years of ruling Brooklyn towards the docks, for a girl who had literally ran herself into my world.

I ripped off my suspenders, shirt, and shoes as I ran, and when I reached the end of the dock she had flung herself off of, I looked over and only saw her hair, whatever color she called it. I remembered the scene from a few days ago as she had gotten out of the washroom.

"Ya know, I'se have nevah seen a hair dat color before." I told her.

"Oh, there are tons of people in New York with strawberry blond hair." She told me matter-of-fact.

"Strawberry blonde? I'd call it yellow." I said back, smirking. People hate it when I do that and it's funny to watch their faces.

"Yellow?" She boomed. "I do _not _have _yellow_ hair!" And she stomped out of the room. Girls. Jeeze.

But that was the funny thing, even though she annoyed the hell out of me, I was diving into the freezing water after her and her _strawberry blonde_ hair. I couldn't help but wonder what color hair her kid would have, and who was its father.

As much as I wouldn't admit it, I wondered if it was me. It bugged me, thinking I'd have to raise a kid, but Spotette was so intent on not letting anyone help, it made me feel like I should; that she was always looking out for everyone else. _Damn her and her smart reverse-phycology._ I thought.

I reached for her tiny wrist, and begun to pull her up. For such a small girl, she sunk quickly and was almost to the bottom when I reached her. I was half way back to the surface with her when I felt a piece of her clothing snag on a support beam of the dock.

Shit, I thought. I resurfaced for air, and dove down immediately after.

I used my strength and ripped away the sleeve of her shirt; the clothing caught on a splinter of wood and dragged her onto the deck.

I hoped she was breathing; like really hoped. I had some attachment to this girl; maybe it was the fact she was the only person who would stand up to me, or didn't see me so intimidating, or that she was named after me, or maybe because I had to know why the police wanted her.

The bulls had seen her rush into the water, and I was positive they knew she wasn't planning on coming back up, so they packed up their stuff and left.

Burnin was standing by my side panting within seconds of pulling Spotette onto the dock, and was giving her CPR before I knew it.

Before I realized it she was spitting up water and coughing. Burnin pulled her into a hug, not even needing an explanation.

Spotette seemed to look around, except her eyes couldn't stop spinning, and before I knew it she was laying limp in Burnin's arms. "Shit," is all he said.

"Gimme her." I ordered, and he passed her weak, sopping wet body to me. "Now go get the doctor, and hurry!" I screamed after him as he ran towards the doctor that lived in the Lodging House.

Only moments later, I saw both Burnin and the doc running down the road towards us. He saw Spotette and started checking her out; medically that is.

When he asked for her background information, I found myself realizing that I really didn't know; she was secretive. "Err… she's pregnant." Was all I could give him. He immediately examined her stomach, and sighed.

"I'm so sorry, but the baby didn't make it." He said solemnly, but continued with sadness in his eyes, "But she will. Just keep her in bed for a while." He whispered.

Everything else at that second after the news happened in pieced.

Burnin nodded. The baby's dead? Doc apologized again. It never even lived! Burnin mumbled something about it not being his fault. It's not fair! Doc walked away quietly. Poor Spotette. Poor baby.

Then it hit me. Why was I even so attached to it? It might not even be mine. But then I knew. I _knew_ it wasn't mine. Spotette had been different. Not just some slut I slept with one night. No, she had virtues. I hadn't taken them from her.

I picked her up bridal style and walked back to the Lodging House. Spotette was really a pretty girl, and full of surprises. Her curly hair clung to her face from being wet; the same with her clothes.

I walked into the Lodging House ignoring the questions and stares, and sent one of my spies, or birdies, to Manhattan for Race and Shots. I set her in our bed. _Our bed,_ I thought.

I pulled the covers over her, knowing I wasn't going to be able to changer her clothes without being beaten for it later by herself. Spotette looked content and I just sat on the side of the bed thinking.

Why had she jumped off the docks? Why were the bulls after her? Why was she running when I first met her? Why didn't she have anywhere to go? Why had she stayed in Brooklyn when I hadn't given her orders to? Why hadn't she told about her past? Or the father of the baby?

I knew why though: It was her way of dealing with everything; because she wasn't completely innocent; she had a past to hide, too; because she couldn't go back; she had no reason to return to Manhattan; no one had asked her; and she was looking out for herself incase she was right, and had to raise the child alone.

Spotette must have a hard life, but so does everyone else. But it's different; she has to go around everyday seeing those other girls, girls that could have been her, going around with their perfect lives and money and family and clothes.

I don't remember much of my mother, other than her name, Anna Elizabeth Conlon, (Anna is pronounced Ona). That and a poem she used to recite to my sister who died when she was thirteen and I was four, causing my mother to commit suicide and my father to become an alcoholic. I lived with my father for two years after both my sister Molly Kler, (Kler is pronounced Claire), and my mothers death before he became violent and murderous. He was arrested and I joined the Newsies.

I remember the poem read to Molly by our mother and I thought it fit the problems with Spotette, so I said it to her in a whisper.

_"She's fine most of the time;_

_She takes her days with a smile,_

_Moves like a dancer in light,_

_Spinning around to the sound, and _

_Sometimes she falls down._

_Breathe, just breathe, _

_Take the world off your shoulders and put it on me, _

_Breathe, just breathe,_

_Let the life that you live be all that you need._

_..._

_She likes New York at night, _

_She dreams of running away,_

_Shine on, bright like the sun, _

_When even the sky turns gray, _

_I need you to hear me say, _

_I need you to hear me say. _

_Breathe, just breathe, _

_Take the world off you shoulders and put it on me,_

_Breathe, just breathe, let the life that you live be all that you need._

_..._

_Let go of the fear, let go of the doubt,_

_Let go of the ones that try and put you down,_

_You're going to be fine,_

_Don't hold it inside. If you hurt right now_

_Then let it all come out._

_Breathe, just breathe, take the world off your shoulders and put it on me,_

_Breathe, just breathe, _

_Let the life that you live be all that you need."_

_..._

"Spot, that's beautiful." A small voice came from Spotette, and tears slipped through her closed eyes. "Thank you." She said.

"You scared me, I didn't know if you would make it." I said quietly, not even bothering to say 'us' or 'we' rather than 'me' and 'I'. She looked better, not so pale. "But there's one problem." I continued. How do I tell her?

"The baby didn't make it did he?" She asked, still crying with her eyes closed.

"Yes." I said closing my own eyes for a moment, "How did you guess."

"I had a dream Spot, but it was when the child was born, living and healthy at the age of two, small and dark haired. It was a nice dream at first, he was on a swing in summer with flowers and we were happy, and I was older, a normal age for children. But then the scene got sucked away; replaced by a dark stormy night, at the docks. It was me, Spot, and the child, and I was running like I had been, and I jumped off the end of the dock. But right when my feet left the ground, it changed from me to the baby, and he fell." Spotette whispered, with more tears.

"Its okay, it's okay." I said, patting her forehead, and bending over and kissing it. "We're going to make it." I told her, and knew it was true.

"Spot, I know that you know it wasn't your child, and I don't think I'm ready to tell you whose it was yet, but some of the time I wished it was yours. Then I would forever have a bond to you that the others did not. But there was always the thought that even if it was yours you would still leave, but I would always have the one special part of you with me." She admitted with her voice so quiet it was barely audible, but she had opened her eyes.

"Samantha Rose Brown, I will never leave you." I leaned over and kissed her lips gently. I could feel her smile under my lips, before pulling away.

"I will hold you to that, Liam Sean Conlon." She told me, that tough girl voice coming through with a light in her brown eyes that I hadn't seen for a while, and she leaned forward and kissed me.

* * *

**THAT'S GOING TO BE THE END OF THIS STORY. BUT MAYBE A SEQUEL? WELL I HAVE ONE MORE CHAPTER THAT WILL TIE UP SOME OF THE LOOSE ENDS, BUT ALSO STARTING SOME OTHER STUFF.[=**

**Also, that 'poem' Spot said to Samantha was really "Breathe" by Ryan Star. **


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9: Author's Comments.**

**And Tying It Up.**

**Okay, I know this is my first story, but I am positive I will be writing more. For Newsies? I'm not sure yet. **

**But, of course I will be writing a sequel, just because I need to have closure with Samantha Rose and Spot.**

**Samantha POV...**

"Spot! Slow down, we've been running for ever!" Burnin called after Spot, who was running a full ten yards ahead of him.

"Hey, ain't me problem you'se are slow!" Spot called back, not missing a beat.

"Okay, okay, Spot wins!" I shouted after the boys, ending the race that consisted of them racing around Brooklyn's streets.

"Always." Spot said smirking, and walking his sweaty body over and kissing my cheek.

"Eww, go take a shower." I said, batting him away.

"Can't handle the man stink, can ya?" Burnin said smiling, joining us. I glared at him, and spoke.

"Handle? You know how _I_ handle things, remember? I jumped off the docks last time I couldn't _handle_ things. So if you are saying I cannot handle this, I would be very willing to make the exception of pushing _you_both off, instead of me jumping." I told them, laughing with them.

"Fine, we'se will wash up." Burnin said, chuckling, his red hair shaking around his face. Spot, though, stood smirking next to me.

"I'd like to see you push me in the water." He told me. It wasn't a question, or a statement even, it was Spot's crazy way of an invitation to go with him to the docks. I smiled and gently grabbed his sweaty, ink stained hand.

Once we arrived, most of the boys had returned to the Lodging House, and those who remained left when they saw us.

Spot broke the silence quietly by saying just barely a whisper, "We'se is togeddah now, and you'se can tell me anything."

"Racetrack." I told him, still holding his hand, starring blankly out across the water.

I wasn't in Brooklyn, on the docks, anymore, I wasn't even in New York. I was far away, I could hear what was going on but my mind and heart was somewhere else; its own way of recovering from everything that had happened.

"What about him?" Spot asked, still holding my hand, but he sounded like he was talking from quite a distance.

"The baby." I shrugged, keeping my voice completely calm and numb, because currently that was what I felt. My head felt like it was getting spun off of my body, letting everything out with it.

**SPOT'S POV….**

"He was da fadder?" I growled, not even trying to control my voice.

"Yep." Spotette wasn't paying attention, only listening to me, staring blankly at nothing but water.

"I'll soak him! I'll murder him, you'se watch me!" I said darkly, and began pulling Spotette away.

"No, you won't." She wasn't budging, and her voice wasn't a question, it was a command sounding a lot like my own voice.

"What else were you hidin'? You some slut? Is dat da reason you'se are here? Ohh, you probably were sent here or sumptin'. You'se here to mess wid me boys and play wid us!" I screamed at her, dropping her small hand.

She immediately snapped back to life; eyes popping out of her head. "WHAT?" She yelled, in shock, "YOU NEVER ASKED ME! THEY SAID YOU ALL HAD HARD PASTS!"

"So you'se was one!" I fought back.

"That's what you think of me? How could you even think that?" She asked, her voice quieted and cracking, "That's the only reason you're with me, right? Because you thought I was a slut." Spotette whispered.

"You flipped that around!"

"I fell for a pig, oh my goodness." She whispered almost to herself.

Shit, she wasn't a slut, and my temper got in the way and made accusations. "No, no, I'm sorry for judging you'se widout askin'. Do you wanna tell me'se what really happened?" Please forgive me, please forgive me, was all I was thinking.

At first I didn't think she was going to answer, just continue to stare at nothing with her large eyes widened. Spotette gasped; a sharp intake of breathe, and began her life story. She talked so fast I could barely keep up, but I did.

After she was done talking and sobbing into my arms, Spotette stood, shook herself off and continued watching the water like nothing had happened.

I would act like nothing had happened, too. But I understood her now.

…

**SAMANTHA'S POV…**

It was weeks after Spot's and mine fight when we were walking around the Brooklyn streets after selling our last papes. We were having fun, holding hands.

After a while we turned and headed back to the Lodging House, giving Spot's 'birdies' some time to get back and tell them we were on our way so the others could clean up whatever they broke.

Spot and I strolled around just enjoying each other company, and thinking. I thought of how I had convinced Spot to keep everything I had told him a secret, and though he wasn't happy, he agreed.

We were walking up the walk to the Lodging House when we noticed shouting from inside, "What are we supposed to do with it?" or "Ewww! It peed on me!"

Spot was running through to door in half a second, still holding my hand and nearly dragging me with him. "What is it!" He boomed.

The whole room silenced and turned to look at us, and there in the center of the small room surrounded by two dozen boys, sat a baby, sleeping, wrapped in a ton of blankets with only his face showing.

I acted quickly and walked over and picked it up, so small and breakable. I looked pleadingly at Spot whose eyes were wide in shock. I rolled my eyes; boys will be boys, and babies and boys don't mix well.

I brought the baby upstairs, a baby boy, to the spare room where supposedly Spot had once stayed, but he had felt to outside the others, and moved in with them. I had only found out about the room days ago, when cleaning. I set the baby down on the bed, and a piece of paper fell from his bundle of blankets. It read:

_**I am sorry, but the mother of this child is unable to keep the baby for work purposes. The mother has already missed work delivering the child and now has to catch up. We have checked the dates in our file and found to address of the father at: **_**the Brooklyn Lodgin House. **_**The child is now your responsibly and the risk of pregnancy was taken when you agreed. Regards,**_

_**The Corner Owner: Joseph John.**_

The Corner? That's a whore house. I flipped the sheet over and over trying to find the father's name written anywhere but it wasn't.

I knew that some older Newsies went there, but it still shocked me to have the child sent here.

The boy was young, maybe four months, but not new born, and it had little red fuzz all over the top of his head. Burnin? I didn't want to think of him going to those places, and didn't believe he did.

I heard footsteps and saw a serious Spot walk in.

"Get it out." He ordered.

"What?"

"Get it out of me Lodging House." He growled.

"You want me to let the baby fend for himself?" I asked, confused and mad.

"I did." Spot glared.

"Not when you were this young!" I shot back.

"OUT." He said pointing to the baby.

"If you kick this child out, I am going to leave as well." I told him, plain and simple, thinking it would make him decide to let me keep it.

That must have confused him, because a shot of pain and confusion swept across his face, before being hidden by his mask.

"It can't stay." He somewhat pleaded.

"Why?"

"IT CAN'T STAY." Spot growled, ignoring my question.

"Did you not hear me? I won't let him die! Why don't you like him? I'll take full responsibility for him. But I will leave if you send him out." He wouldn't really let me go like that, would he?

I have to admit, I was somewhat attached to the child already, the motherly sense coming from my own unborn child.

"Then goodbye." Spot said, in his cold unemotional voice.

He is just letting me go; I meant nothing to him, obviously. I couldn't believe I had trusted him and his non-caring face.

"Fine." I said, not even trying to hide the hurt in my voice.

I picked up the child in my arms, and walked down the stairs, and out the Lodging House doors, leaving a very confused Spot Conlon in the doorway.

I had only walked a few steps when I noticed the child was awake; eyes open. What I say scared me.

I saw blue eyes and all, even his slightly upturned nose, and cocky smile as half of the baby's lips curled up in a smirk.

I had looked down into the face of an exact replica of Spot.

…...

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**The End…For Now! Sorry about the kind of cliff hanger, but I have some exciting new chapters coming in the second story, ****Individually Together****, which I will post as soon as possible. **

**REVIEW!**

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**My Notes; Questioned asked by my friends, answered HERE:**

_**Why have you never before addressed Samantha Rose as Spotette?**_

**Yes, that is because I love the name Samantha Rose, it's so feminine but yet so strong. And the name Spotette was made because I did not want my character to have the nickname of 'Feisty', and I also wanted an excuse right off the bat to tie Samantha to Spot.**

_**I know you had this all written before you even had an account, but how did you come up with everything? I mean the plots are kind of all over the place with suicide attempts, pregnancy, murder, jail, runaways, and a lot of other stuff.**_

**Haha, I find this question hard to answer. I don't really know how I came up with everything, but I didn't think about it. I didn't just sit there going, 'what's going to happen next?' I would come up with a chapter name, that usually influenced the chapter to come, and I would have one giant thing that will happen, for example, in the seventh and eight chapter I was going to have the police come back for Samantha Rose, but I didn't know how that was going to happen, so I just started typing. Kind of like that. I mean I never expected that Samantha would jump off the docks, that kind of just happened too; my way of going 'I wonder what would happen if she…'**

_**You have Racetrack as the second character of this story, but really he was only in like two chapters, if that, so why is he important?**_

**That my friend, you know now. But he is definitely getting a smaller part in this story since his road to fame was cut in one of the chapter. o.O (wink wink) And he was in the first couple chapters, so I thought I would give him a bigger part, but it just didn't make it in the end.**

_**Why was did you clip Burnin in there? I mean, you kind of added him in last minute in one of the chapters, and he never had a huge roll. **_

**Well, I added Burnin in because I needed another character, that the story wouldn't just be about Spot and Samantha. And I made Burnin Samantha's friend because I didn't want her to come across to be some friendless anti-social Newsie. [=**

**_Are you going to make Samantha Rose your character in all the stories you write_?**

**See, I have other things written too. And I went back and looked, and Samantha Rose is the character for ****Differently the Same****, and I want her to stay just that. But going back and looking, most of my female characters will have a resemblance to Sammy Rose, if not her brown eyes, curly hair, or even the way she talks or how she acts towards people. Of course they're all different, but Samantha Rose was the way I would see the girl I wanted too, and so the others are sort of made around her. She's like the sun, and all the others are trees that grew up from her.**


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